


Snowglobed

by FriendlyCybird



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Canon Divergence - Weirdmageddon 3: Take Back the Falls, Gen, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Memory Loss, alternate personalities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: Ford punched the name "Stanley Pines" into the memory gun, but that wasn't the only person the man kneeling a few feet away had ever been.





	Snowglobed

**Author's Note:**

> Warning I couldn't quite figure out how to tag for. Hal Forrester, an alternate identity of Stan's, has suggestive thoughts regarding Ford. I don't think this counts as incestuous as Hal is functionally a different person and doesn't recognize Ford as a sibling. In the interest of safety for all, I'm leaving this warning here though.
> 
> Edit: Special Thanks to Amigolupus for putting this genius concept in my head and letting me run with it. I didn't run very far, but hopefully the distance I got was good.

The woods were nice. Pretty, and quiet. He was still tense though. You don’t just wake up in the middle of nowhere because everything went according to plan. He must’ve cheesed something ALL up to end up out here, in someone else's’ clothes. (This jacket was nice, but not his style). He wasn’t bound though, and there were clear, if narrow, walking paths in sight. So this probably wasn’t an attempted murder thing. Probably. Someone was coming up the trail though, so he got to his feet.

It was an older man, fit, but a tired face and grey hair. He was wearing an ill-fitting suit and walking gingerly, as if injured. He didn’t how or why, but he was suddenly convinced he was responsible for whatever that injury was, and that the man was looking for him. So he did the only logical thing. He hauled himself to his feet and ran. 

“Grunkle Stan!” A little girl? Where had she come from? Was the old guy back there seriously hunting him with kids along? The flash of anger he felt at the concept was distant, distorted, and possibly disproportionate. It wasn’t like his work didn’t screw over kids too sometimes. Maybe the little gremlen had it out for him too. All the same, he felt something vicious rise up inside him. Heavy footfalls closed in behind him and when had he gotten so slow? Then he felt himself be pushed under and his awareness fundamentally altered.

Andrew “8-Ball” Alcatraz was pissed. He didn’t know at what, being pissed was a pretty normal state for him. So was being chased, for what he didn’t know. He knew he was sick of it though. So he stopped running, turned, and threw a punch. 

The blow went high. The old man on his heels came in low and drove a shoulder into 8-Ball’s side, knocking them both to the ground. 8-Ball rolled under the other man, arms snapping out and closing over his neck in a chokehold. There was something weird about the hands that clamped around 8-Ball’s forearms, but he couldn’t place what with the figure who’d been chasing him struggling and pleading “Stanley, Stanley, please, it’s me.” 

8-Ball threw a leg across the old man’s to pin him down and growled “Sorry, buddy, think you got the wrong guy.” 

The man froze, and two children, a boy and a girl, appeared through the treeline. 8-Ball squeezed a little tighter when he saw them. Oh yeah. This asshole had dragged kids into whatever vendetta he had going here. 8-Ball was giving some thought to snapping his neck just for that when the man gasped “Bill.” voice lower than necessary even with the pressure on his windpipe. He sounded terrified, like he might cry. He went limp in 8-Ball’s arms. Not unconscious, just resigned. “Don’t hurt them” the man said. “Take m-” 

“I don’t know what kind of sick freak this Bill is,” 8-Ball interrupted. He couldn’t stomach begging. “But, again, wrong guy.” 

“Let him go, Grunkle Stan!” the boy shouted, voice surprisingly strong for how it wavered. “I don’t know why you’re doing this but let him go!”

Shit. 8-Ball was no good with kids. Much less crying kids. These two looked like they’d been crying for hours and were all set to start up again. He nudged the older man and asked “These kids yours?” 

8-Ball recognized the voice of a man on the edge of tears when he heard the voice. “They’re yours, Stanley.” 

That was just low. 8-Ball jerked his arm roughly and growled “I told you I’m not Stanley.” The old man made a strangled noise and both kids cried out. “Sorry, kids.” he said. “Just teaching your old man not to lie to me.” 

“Grunkle Stan, you don’t recognize us?” the girl pleaded. Her voice cut right to his heart. “Any of us?” 

8-Ball was completely out of his depth. He blinked at her, his grip on the other man relaxed and he paid for it with a sharp elbow to the side of the neck and he crumpled. The kids cried out again, and his last thought was that they sure seemed to care about this “Stanley” they all thought he was.

“Shit!” Hal gasped, clutching at his neck and pushing himself off the ground, only to come face to face with a couple traumatized looking kids. “Um. Shoot.” he corrected, then wagged a finger at them. “I said shoot, alright?” 

“Gr…” the girl tried to speak. Hal looked at her. “Grunkle Stan?” 

“Uh?” Hal rubbed his neck. Fucking ow. “No?” he offered, and Oh Moses her brokenhearted little face. “Grunkle?” he tried curiously. He regretted it instantly when the girl burst into tears. 

The boy put his arm around her and said softly “It’s short for Great Uncle. You’re our Great Uncle. Stan Pines.” 

Hal’s heart broke. “Oh.” he said softly. He could do it. He was an actor, after all. Failed actor, but an actor. He could play the role, right? He had a name and a relationship. That was more then he’d had to go on for some auditions. One look at their tiny, desperate faces and he couldn’t lie to them like that. Not with the heartbreak it would set them up for when he inevitably got it wrong. “I...I’m not though.” he offered his hand then. “Name’s Hal. Hal Forrester. It’s nice to meetcha, kids.” 

The boy hesitated, then shook his hand. “Dipper Pines.” he said, voice still shaking. Then he hit Hal with another doozy. “Why were you fighting our Great Uncle Ford?” 

“Fighting?” Hal echoed. It was only then he became aware of the old man who’s gotten to his feet behind him. He assessed him the way he might a potential client. Extremely fit for his apparent age, though his suit didn’t fit very well...too big instead of too small which he saw less often than the other way. Big nose, big ears, floofy hair, and honestly he looked like his world had just been snowglobed. If he’d come to him for the usual reasons instead of whatever this was, Hal’d keep the money talk subtle and probably charge a little less anyway. You don’t take advantage of grief. “I’m uh...more a lover than a fighter but if I was…” he rubbed his neck again. “That explains what happened to my neck!” 

“More a lover than a fighter?” the old man, Ford? Echoed, incredulous. “Stanley, you…” 

“Not Stanley.” Hal didn’t know why that bugged him so much. “I’m. Not. Stanley.” he emphasized. They were all instantly crestfallen. “...and I’m sorry that that upsets you, but facts are facts. I’m Hal Forester and…” he hesitated, then admitted “...and I don’t totally know what I’m doing here, if I’m honest? Where is here even?” 

They were all silent, then, the old man “How are you NOT Stanley?” and he sounded offended and angry and hurt all at once. 

“Grunkle Ford…” the boy interjected. “...what did you put in the memory gun?” 

Ford paled. “S...Stanley...Pines…” the boy nodded solemnly, and the way they all looked at him then was like someone had died and Hal had killed them. “But then who are you.” 

“Like I said,” he began, this time he offered his hand to Ford. “Hal Forrester. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I’m starting to think I wish it was under better circumstances.” That was the line, right? What you say when you meet someone at a funeral? That’s what this was. It was somehow a funeral. For a him that wasn’t him and that was just a little mind boggling to consider. Ford hesitated, and Hal gestured slightly to remind him of the waiting handshake. 

When Ford took his hand, Hal saw the reason for the hesitation. He held longer than he should have and turned Ford’s hand in his own, bringing his opposite hand in to run his thumb across each, individual, fully-formed knuckle. “Wow.” he said after a moment. “This...this is impressive. I’ve never seen this before.” He offered a grin, a joke about the extra finger making things more interesting on the tip of his tongue when he remembered there were kids right behind him. Ford withdrew his hand, gingerly, as if Hal had burned it. “I’m sorry.” he said after a moment. “Shoulda figured you’d be sensitive about it…” 

“No, no, it’s quite alright…” but he sounded far away. He didn’t look too present either. 

“Hey, kids?” Hal said, reaching for Ford. “Your uh, your Great Uncle don’t look too steady on his feet. Any idea where we can get him so he can sit a while?” 

“Yeah.” the girl said after a moment. “Yeah, let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> I fully intend this to be a one shot, but I'm aware there's an awful lot more of this story to explore. So who knows?


End file.
